


Reminiscence

by Verdin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11226006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: The death of a loved on always takes a toll, and Cor never had time to grieve.When he visits an old friend in Altissia to catch up, the evening becomes a trip down memory lane.





	Reminiscence

It was only in the early hours of the morning that the beautiful Altissia entered uneasy sleep. The hard rain pouring down on the cobblestones had certainly played a part in driving the night owls towards an early rest.

Even the Maagho was almost empty, although that had more to do with the owner discreetly urging his patrons home since an old friend had come in and sat silently down at the bar. Even the merchants in their gondolas were had taken their leave. Whatever business was going down this night, it was none of theirs.

Cor Leonis was in a bad mood. Or rather, he lacked all mood. The news from Insomnia had shaken him, but now there was no rage, no despair. Just a wish to drown out the world.

Visiting an old friend, one that would understand, seemed like a reasonable idea.

When he entered the Maagho, Weskham Armaugh did not ask questions, simply serving him a glass with some light green liquid that tasted like herbs and sweet oblivion, keeping it filled throughout the evening.

Cor's head was swimming in a warm pool of viscous liquid by now. It felt almost pleasant.

 

Weskham finished polishing the wooden counter and sighed heavily.

Three glasses and a bottle were placed in front of the soldier. He recognized the label. “Didn't know that stuff still existed.” A sad little laugh.

“I kept one bottle for each of us,” the barkeeper said softly. “Even though I wouldn't dream of serving this ghastly stuff these days.” It took a little effort to open the dusty bottle, but then he filled the three glasses, pushing one in front of Cor and one to the other side of the counter, keeping the last one for himself.

“To friends that passed. Lest we forget.”

They clinked their glasses and drank.

The liqueur was as sharp and burning as Cor remembered it. They had started drinking it so many years ago since it was cheap enough to afford it with almost empty pockets and strong enough to count as something for manly men, and they continued drinking it now as a commemoration of those days long gone.

Weskham grimaced. “I know I hoped for something better then this when he asked me to travel with him, but he was so bent on sharing our experiences that we were stuck with this, and the hangovers it brought. Remember those?”

“I tried my best to forget them.” He barely managed a smile.

They drank.

“I miss the old days.” Armaugh took out his monocle and polished it with the tails of his shirt.

“I miss him.”

The barkeep nodded, laid the monocle down and put his arm around Cor's shoulders.

The soldier tried blinking back the salty water that suddenly welled in his eyes.

“It's okay to cry for a lost friend, and even more so for a lost love. Even you know that.”

“You know...”

“That you and Regis were a thing?” The older man chuckled, kissing away the tear that ran down Cor's cheek. His beard felt like the dense fur of a Coeurl on his skin, astaoundingly soft. “I'd be bad in my profession if I did not see such things, and if I did not know what my patrons need, don't you think?”  
Before the soldier could answer, he felt a strong hand in the nape of his neck, pulling him back. The lips on his were assertive, opening up his mouth like a blade a ripe fruit.

For a moment he hesitated, then melted into the kiss, feeling safe for the first time in months. The taste of hard liquor on their tongues soon mixed with saliva into something far more pleasant. Faint traces of cherry, an aroma the bottle had promised for so many years, perfumed a reunion that had been past due for decades. Cor wrapped his arms around the wiry body next to him, digging short nails into leather, into fabric, into skin.

Weskham kept his grip on Cor's neck with gentle finality, carefully guiding the soldier down from the stools towards the floor, never breaking the kiss. Only when Cor had lain down beneath him, his body writhing under his weight, did he sit upright, straddling the soldier's hips, his brown hand around the clean shaven neck, pinning him down more with a gesture than with force. His dark eyes searched Cor's icy blue ones, holding them in his gaze.

“Fuck me”, the soldier whispered, his voice raspy.

Weskham bowed down to him, placing little bites on his earlobe. “I'm a civilian, Cor. Say please, will you? No orders here.” Slowly his tongue followed the line of the conch, and the felt the man under him trembling.

A sweet little sigh, then he repeated it hoarsely. “Fuck me...please...”

Getting him out of his black shirt was easy enough without leaving his position, and the barkeep spent a while tracing the patchwork of scars with his fingers, digging them down into the tanned skin where the shape of the bones was apparent, exploring the strong muscles in the neck, the soft hollow where the ribs arched over the abdomen, making his way over the little path of hair down to his belt buckle. For a moment, he remained there, relishing the sight as much as the eager grinding of the hips below him.

Nonchalantly, he loosened his yellow tie, then pulled it down entirely.

“Your hands.” A short nod, then he crossed his own hands like in prayer, and the younger man followed suit. The silken fabric was wrapped around Cor's wrists and secured with a knot.

“Behind your head. Please.” It was only as his instructions were followed that Weskham skittered down a little, opening the belt. The button. The zipper.

The Immortal's shaft keenly awaited to be freed, pulsing against the fabric of the boxers, but he would have to wait a jiffy longer. The barkeep got up now, correcting the fit of his vest, then leaning over the counter to refill the glass of green liquid Cor had drunken earlier, swigging a mouthful before kneeling down between his legs. He set the glass aside, together with a small flask, and finally pulled down the fabric covering what was right now the center of Cor's existence.

He leaned over, letting liquor dribble down his length, touching the tip with pursed lips, then gliding down slowly.

The soldier gasped, first from the touch, shortly after from the slight burning sensation the mouth full of alcohol caused, forcing the already sensitive surface to become even more tender.

Weskham took his time taking the whole thing into his mouth, his tongue snaking up and down, following the veins. When he finally swallowed the booze and began sucking in a slow and steady rhythm, Cor moaned, thrusting his hips to meet that wonderful wetness. He tried to bury his hands in the gray braids, but the tie around his wrists only allowed a light touch.

The tongue stopped, and then the heat around his cock receded. So close... He grunted in disappointment.

“Your hands. Behind your head. Please.” A gentle admonition, and he answered with a low-key groan.

The barkeep smiled over that wordless protest. He opened the flask, pouring fragrant oil into his palms, warming it up before spreading it on the base of the dick, the ballsack and lower, generously spreading it between the cheeks, tickling the tight ring of muscle hidden there.

A sharp intake of breath, and Cor's legs spread wider all too willingly. Weskham used the moment to get rid of those black combat boots and the rest of the trousers, examining the soldier's firm body. Missing the skin contact, those winter-sky eyes blinked, and seeing the well-known figure between his legs, Cor smiled, breathing deeply, trying to relax.

Soon enough, the diligent mouth was back to work, while the oily fingers were working on relaxing those tenacious muscles. Cor's breathing changed, getting slower, deeper, his pelvis gyrating against the intruding hand, the cock heavy and firm between his lover's lips. The second hand caressed the pouch between the legs, feeling it tighten, ready for release.

Weskham kept his rhythm. Just a little longer, and then...

The body beneath him stiffened, holding the breath inside. Releasing. He swallowed it all, salty on the back of his tongue, holding the pumping dick between his lips until the spasms passed and the blood returned to the rest of the body.

He gave a last lick and sat up, unzipping his own fly. It was time to get serious.

 

 


End file.
